


enlightenment

by youcouldmakealife



Series: but always in tandem [17]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 03:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8605990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: Chapman’s waiting in the elevator bay, hands in his pockets, looking vaguely nauseous. Robbie hopes he’s choking on it. “So?” Robbie asks.
“Maybe — my room?” Chapman asks.
This sounds like the set up to a horror film, or one of those gay movies that always seem to end with someone dying. “Three people saw me walk out with you if you’re planning on a deniable gay bashing or something,” Robbie says, then stabs the button for the elevator.





	

Robbie wakes up the next morning feeling better. Settled. Crying like a baby is out and cold, implacable anger is in, which isn’t ideal, but, you know. Better.

“How you feeling?” Matty asks.

“Better,” Robbie says, then, when Matty frowns at him, waits for something, “Pissed.”

“Yeah,” Matty says, but heavy.

Robbie sits with the typical breakfast bros crew when they head down. Chapman’s joined them a few times, but obviously that’s not in the cards, and Robbie starts in on breakfast fast, because Craney and Matty are exchanging looks like worried parents and Robbie hates it almost as much as Wheels, out of the loop, seems to.

“Chapman’s coming over,” Crane says when Robbie’s halfway through his eggs. “So, heads up.”

“You honestly think he’s dumb enough?” Robbie asks.

“Can I talk to you?” he hears a moment later, so. Guess he is.

“Sure,” Robbie says flatly, not looking up. “Go right ahead.”

“Not here,” Chapman says. “In private, please?”

That’s a hell of a thing to ask for. Takes a whole lot of fucking nerve, considering their last conversation.

Robbie looks over at Matty, who’s looking right back, giving him this ‘give it a chance’ look because he’s an eternal fucking optimist. Still, if Robbie’s going to rip Chapman a new one, which is what he’s inclined to do right now, maybe it shouldn’t be in front of the entire roster. “Let me finish eating, at least,” Robbie says, even though his appetite’s vanished. Can’t imagine why.

“Right, sure,” Chapman says. “Of course. Meet in the lobby? When you’re done?”

“Fine,” Robbie says, and Chapman thankfully disappears.

“Want me to come?” Matty asks immediately.

“You’re not my guard dog, Matty,” Robbie says, though honestly the thought’s appealing to him right now.

“Sure?” Matty asks. “I’m sure Dev would come too.”

“Thanks for volunteering me,” Craney says, but doesn’t actually argue.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on with Chaps?” Wheels asks.

Matty gives him another look. “Tell Wheels after I’m gone,” Robbie says. “I’d like to actually finish my breakfast, thanks.”

Robbie doesn’t hurry, since it takes effort to force the food down, but it’s pretty quiet after that, and Whelan’s eyeballing all three of them. Not the ideal breakfast atmosphere. 

“You know my last confirmed location,” Robbie tells them before he heads out. “Remember this beautiful face.”

“Robbie,” Matty says, all chiding, but hey. Just in case. Robbie would like to say Chapman couldn’t take him, but that’d probably be a lie.

Chapman’s waiting in the elevator bay, hands in his pockets, looking vaguely nauseous. Robbie hopes he’s choking on it. “So?” Robbie asks.

“Maybe — my room?” Chapman asks.

This sounds like the set up to a horror film, or one of those gay movies that always seem to end with someone dying. “Three people saw me walk out with you if you’re planning on a deniable gay bashing or something,” Robbie says, then stabs the button for the elevator.

“That’s not funny,” Chapman says, same chiding voice as Matty had, which is so rich Robbie wants to laugh. Except Chapman’s right. It isn’t funny at all.

“You’re right,” Robbie says flatly. “It’s not.”

Robbie stares at the mirrored walls of the elevator, his own exhausted face staring back, eyes the loopy patterns on the walls of the hallway as Chapman leads him back to whatever the fuck he’s thinking of. You’d think with a guy who had that reaction would be afraid of being around Robbie in private. Who knows, Robbie might stick a hand down his pants or something.

“Um, sit?” Chapman asks, when they get into his room.

“I’d rather not, honestly,” Robbie says, then goes to stand by the window, looking out. It looks like it’s a beautiful fucking day outside. Robbie shouldn’t be mad about that, but he is.

He waits for Chapman to say something, but he doesn’t, and the silence drags on. Robbie looks over at Chapman, who’s sitting on the bed, kind of blank looking, infuriating. “So?” Robbie asks. “You planning on a speech or are we just going to stare at each other? Because if it’s the second one, I have better shit to do.”

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Chapman says. “I panicked.”

Well, that’s a diplomatic way of saying ‘I walked the fuck out on you like the gay was catching’. “No shit,” Robbie mutters.

“I don’t have a problem with it or anything,” Chapman says, and it’s all Robbie can do not to laugh in his fucking face, because he doesn’t think he’s ever heard a lie so bald-faced, and he’s had his pick of them. 

“I was just…surprised,” Chapman says defensively, clearly picking up on Robbie’s incredulous look. “You didn’t seem—”

Robbie didn’t ‘seem’ gay. Because of course in his black and white mind gay sits in this little box and you have to tick all these checkmarks to apply. God forbid someone he gets along with ends up in that category. Robbie’s not surprised he works like that, just — disappointed sounds like too nice a word. Disappointed doesn’t have the simmering rage beneath it that Robbie’s feeling.

“Let me stop you before you dig yourself a hole so deep you can’t see out of it,” Robbie snaps. “Sorry I didn’t fit your idea that we can all be identified by sight, it doesn’t work like that.”

“I know,” Chapman says, which is clearly bullshit.

“But ‘I didn’t seem’,” Robbie says, using sarcastic finger quotes. “Because like, what? No teammate of yours could be gay, next thing you know someone in the league’s going to come out — oh wait, shit, that already happened, didn’t it? Well, fuck.”

It’s almost like sucking dick doesn’t have direct correlation with hockey skill. Or maybe it has a positive correlation, considering Lapointe slays it. The hockey. Robbie doesn’t know about the dick sucking. Hopes for his husband’s sake he slays that too.

“I — no,” Chapman says. “I’m not saying this right.”

“No shit,” Robbie says. He kind of wants to laugh again, because that’s the biggest statement of the obvious he’s ever heard, but really, nothing about this is funny, and the last thing he needs right now is to listen to Chapman continue to offer shitty reasons for flipping out like surprise would make any non-shitty person act like that. Robbie’s not here absolve him, has zero interest in it. “Look, you want to act like this is some huge fucking deal that changes who I am, whatever, knock yourself out, but I don’t really want to hear it right now, or like, ever, so I’m gonna go.”

Robbie’s most of the way out of this bullshit conversation when Chapman loudly says, “Jake Lourdes.”

“Serge Bovard,” Robbie counters, looks back and sees Chapman frowning like Robbie’s the fucking ridiculous one. “Oh sorry, I thought we were playing ‘name random fucking NHL captains, because that’s clearly relevant’.”

Chapman keeps frowning, not saying anything, and Robbie’s turning the doorknob when he speaks again. “I’m in love with him, so.” Chapman says.

There’s something in Robbie’s chest like hope, and something in his throat like bile. “It’s really not the time for a shitty gay joke,” Robbie says. “For the record.”

“I’m not joking,” David says, then, “How often do I joke?”

Man’s got a point. Chapman’s not really the joking type, and definitely wouldn’t be offering up his own gay jokes after the reception Robbie’s seen him give them. “Fair,” Robbie says, then, though the answer is growing increasingly clear, “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Chapman says, a little redundantly.

“You, what, have been sneaking a secret boyfriend under everyone’s nose while acting squeamish every time someone says the word ‘gay’?” Robbie asks. It’s meant to be snide, but when he says it, it just kind of sounds — Chapman was second overall. Lourdes was first. It’d be a fucking shitstorm if that came out, and flinching at every insinuation you might be gay? Robbie’s starting to get it.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Chaps says.

“So what, then?” Robbie asks.

“I—” Chaps says, then hesitates. “Give me a second?”

“Okay?” Robbie says. He gets that shit can be undefined, but he's not sure why the fuck Chaps is pulling out his phone. The anger’s washed out like the tide and all that’s left is curiosity, maybe a bit of sudden solidarity, so he’s willing to wait.

Chaps starts busily doing something on his phone, and Robbie lets it slide for a minute or two until he’s fidgeting, impatient, and can’t keep his mouth shut any longer. “You have notes on there or something?” Robbie asks.

“No, it’s Jake,” Chaps says, finally looking up, his cheeks tinged pink. “I — I wasn’t going to say anything about us if he didn’t want me to.”

“Okay, this I actually want to hear,” Robbie says, then moves from his spot by the door to sit beside David on the bed, because Chaps looks like he might be sick, this unholy mix of embarrassed and scared, and if anyone needs some moral support, it’s him right now.

“You can’t—” David says, before Robbie interrupts.

“Dude, I’m not going to tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“Georgie said you wouldn’t,” Chaps says, which is —

“You talking to Georgie about me?” Robbie asks sharply. Because of course he did. Maybe it came out naturally after Georgie bent him over and —  
Considering the way Chapman told him he was gay — or at least dude liking — was in the context of being in love with one specific dude, Robbie is a fucking asshole for thinking this. He tries to bite it down.

“I needed him to know,” David says. “That I knew about him, I mean. After you told me about — you guys. And he said if I told you about — me, I guess, you wouldn’t tell.”

That…makes more sense than pillow talk. And has the bonus of making Robbie feel even more like a fucking asshole, because yeah, there was no way for Chapman to know whether Georgie was cool with someone knowing. It’s weird thinking of Georgie sticking up for him, but then, that’s less sticking up for him and more stating something Georgie knows is a matter of fact: Robbie wouldn’t out someone. To Georgie’s credit, that’s something they have in common.

“I mean, I hate to agree with Georgie, but yeah,” Robbie says, then zips his lips. “Secret’s safe with me.”

Chaps laughs, which is a rare enough occasion generally, let alone in this context.

“What?” Robbie says.

“That’s what he said,” David says. He being Georgie presumably. It’s not — it makes sense that he could predict Robbie on this, but Robbie still doesn’t like it. Not only that, Chaps and Robbie have been friends for months, Georgie shows up and suddenly Chapman’s spilling his guts. Robbie gets how charismatic Georgie is, he was one of the dupes to Georgie’s charisma, but still. That one stings.

“Can’t believe you told him first,” Robbie says. 

“He guessed,” David says. “I didn’t tell him, he. After my birthday—”

For the first time Robbie remembers accusing Georgie of hooking up with Lourdes, thinks about Georgie’s response that Lourdes was already hung up on someone. That must’ve been Chaps. Georgie knew the entire time Robbie was calling him out on hooking up with Lourdes, and he didn’t say a fucking thing, because — because he wouldn’t. It wasn’t his thing to tell, so he didn’t.

“I’m a dumbass, huh?” Robbie asks rhetorically. He is such a fucking dumbass. He’d think Georgie was laughing on the inside at him, except Georgie was grim as grim could be. 

“No,” Chaps says, in some weak attempt at comfort. “Of course not. He’s just friends with Jake.”

“No, I am definitely a dumbass,” Robbie confirms, remembering the look on Georgie’s face when Robbie accused him of fucking Lourdes, or trying to, incredulous in a way he suddenly understands. He flops onto the bed beside Chaps. “Total idiot.”

“No you’re not,” David argues. “It isn’t obvious, or. I hope it isn’t. It isn’t, right?”

It takes Robbie a second to realise Chaps is talking about himself. “Dude, I thought you were a fucking dick homophobe until like five minutes ago,” Robbie says, though he’s increasingly starting to think he’s just an oblivious moron. He’d ask Georgie when he figured it out, but — he’s not going to do that. “It’s not obvious.”

“Sorry,” David mumbles, cheeks lighting up again.

“I get it, kinda. “Not like, really, but kinda. I guess,” Robbie says. It’s not something he’s hidden to that ugly, homophobic point, but he isn’t exactly telling everyone, and he kind of gets the pressure Chaps is under, the lens of fame so much brighter for him than what Robbie has. “Jake Lourdes?” Robbie asks belatedly, because he was mostly caught on the dude part, but Lourdes is…Robbie wouldn’t kick him out of bed or anything. In the last couple years he’s gone from kind of awkward looking to ‘yeah, I could jerk it to him. Hard.’, and Robbie’s not going to deny the idea of him and Chaps fucking is…that’s one good looking couple.

“Yeah,” Chaps says, going even brighter red. “Not anymore, but.”

“Good work,” Robbie says sincerely. “He got hot.”

“Robbie,” David says, now resembling, like. A radish or some shit. Still, there’s this hint of a smile on his face like he’s proud. Which he should be! Dude’s hot. Not that David isn’t, because he totally is, but — man, if they could conceive those would be some hotass, talented hockey babies.

“Fist bump,” Robbie says, because David deserves one for tapping that.

“No,” Chaps says, still furiously red. “I’m not —”

Robbie gives Chaps a fist bump before he can protest further, and David scowls at him. “Hey,” he says.

“Deserved a fist bump,” Robbie says. “Not anymore?”

David looks down, shakes his head.

“But you’re still in love with him,” Robbie says.

“Yeah,” David says, and his voice is so, so small.

“Sorry man,” Robbie says. “I know how much that sucks.”

He’s not — he doesn’t know what he is now. He has no idea. But he spent fucking years alternately wanting Georgie to die in a fire and wanting Georgie to be beside him, and the fact Georgie’s here now is the worst sort of punishment for thinking that shit, some backwards fulfillment of what he wants when he’s the weakest, loneliest, and most painfully in love, and —

He knows how much that sucks.

“Aren’t you, like…mad at me?” Chaps asks, sounding hesitant. It’s weird, like he doesn’t know ‘I walked out on you because I’m a homophobic asshole’ and ‘I walked out on you because I’m a closet case’ are different things. 

“That was five minutes ago,” Robbie tells him. “You had your reasons for being an asshole.” They weren’t necessarily things Robbie was all that impressed with, then and now, but he knows that throat clutching panic, when the idea of someone knowing you’re gay is the most terrifying thing you can think of. Robbie got over that at around sixteen, but. He’s well aware Chaps, in the spotlight already at that age, grew up in a whole other context.

“I’m really sorry,” David says. “I just didn’t know how — it’s hard.”

Robbie simultaneously gets it and doesn’t get it at all, he thinks. “Thanks for telling me,” Robbie says.

David nods, shoulders tight, so fragile looking Robbie’s worried if he touches him Chaps will crack.

He does it anyway, wraps an arm around his shoulder because he clearly needs a hug, squeezes lightly.

“You can’t tell, like. Matthews or—” David says, choked.

“I’m not going to, man,” Robbie says, a little offended Chaps is even saying that, though Robbie bets paranoia has served him well in his time. “I’ll just tell them it was a misunderstanding and I overreacted. I do that sometimes. I think you’ve experienced it.”

“You didn’t overreact, though,” David says, which is basically just a statement of the obvious, but still nice to hear. He looks worried though, which Robbie doesn’t like.

“Yeah, well, they don’t know that,” Robbie says. “Maybe I told you and you, like, had food poisoning and needed to book it. Or a birthday hangover or something.”

David snorts reluctantly.

“Georgie knew first,” Robbie says. 

“It really bothers you that much?” David asks.

“It totally does,” Robbie admits. “Fuck, man, I thought we were bros.”

“We are,” David says, then, anxiously. “I mean. Right?”

“Totally,” Robbie reassures him. “For sure, man.”

“Okay,” David says. “I mean. Good. I’m glad.”

“Me too, Chaps,” Robbie says. “You wanna head down, get some breakfast, or you need a minute?”

“Um, a minute, if that’s okay. You can go ahead,” David says.

“Nah, I’ll stick with you,” Robbie says, squeezing David’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Chaps says very solemnly.

“No worries,” Robbie says, and for once, it’s less a palliative and more an observation.


End file.
